


Red mouths and curled fingers

by Gem_Gem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drama, Dry Humping, Frottage, Kissing Kink, M/M, Male Slash, Mutual Masturbation, Surprise Kissing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:52:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4003060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John steeled himself, planted his feet and pushed up out of his chair with determination, cutting off Sherlock’s path to the kitchen. Sherlock lifted his brows in question and then abruptly frowned as John reached forward, pulled off Sherlock’s goggles, cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands and leaned forward and up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote it just, thought to post it.
> 
> Surprise experimental kissing is fun!
> 
> Leave a comment and let me know what you think!

John steeled himself, planted his feet and pushed up out of his chair with determination, cutting off Sherlock’s path to the kitchen. Sherlock lifted his brows in question and then abruptly frowned as John reached forward, pulled off Sherlock’s goggles, cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands and leaned forward and up.

When their lips connected Sherlock twitched and lifted his hands either side of him, gloved hands flexing awkwardly. John screwed his eyes closed to block out the close up look into Sherlock’s wide, shocked expression and slanted his mouth over Sherlock’s, taking advantage of his friend’s stunned state to tug him down by the back of his neck.

The kiss was dry and chaste, and John tried not to compare the soft plumpness of Sherlock’s mouth with that of a woman as he detached and stepped back. When he opened his eyes again Sherlock was staring at him, utterly lost, lips faintly pursed and parted.

“Anything?” John asked, after clearing his throat.

Sherlock blinked, then blinked again, and again, before he straightened slowly and answered, “What?”

“What did you feel? Anything? Nothing?” 

Sherlock’s mouth worked silently for a good few minutes, opening and closing uselessly, “You kissed me.”

John sighed, scrubbed a hand through his hair and then down his face, “Yes. Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“Can’t you deduce why?” John said snippily and then lifted a hand of apology. “Sorry, sorry. Look, can you just tell me if you felt anything or not?”

Sherlock frowned deeply in confusion, “I’m lost on what it is I’ve had to have felt?”

John dropped his chin to his chest, settling his hands on his hips and exhaled loudly, “It was…an experiment, of sorts. So many people have implied that you and I have something between us. That I’m gay. So many, Sherlock. Too many to write it off anymore. Even you, when we first met, thought I was flirting with you, thought I was asking—Christ, even Mrs Hudson thinks it! I just wanted to test, to make sure they weren’t all right, that you weren’t right all along. I mean, when are you wrong? Not often. What if you’re right about me? What if they all are? What if I’m not as straight as I believe I am?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “John--”

 

“Just tell me what you felt,” John implored, looking sternly up at Sherlock with the muscle in his jaw jumping.

“I…I don’t know. It all happened so fast. I wasn’t expecting you to do…that. I think my mind stalled,” Sherlock huffed, awkwardly tousling his hair. “You were standing there and then you were…kissing me and I just…” Sherlock gestured unclearly and clumsily, obviously thrown by what had happened.

“Should I do it again?” John asked, willing himself to keep eye contact, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

Sherlock shook his head, “No. No, John, you are heterosexual, you are. I was…wrong before. I’m not the best at reading people and I’ve had people come on to me before, I was distracted and I read it wrong, read you wrong.”

“What about everyone else?”

“People are idiots, John. We’ve been through this.” Sherlock scoffed.

“But there have been so many, Sherlock. So bloody many that I’ve lost count.”

“Fine then. What did you feel? Hm?” Sherlock asked, motioning impatiently when John didn’t answer straight away. “Come on, it was your experiment, what are the results?”

John sighed deeply through his nose and shrugged, rubbing his chin, “…I don’t know.”

“Are you attracted to me? Did you enjoy the touch of my lips? Do you desire to do more?” Sherlock questioned, stepping close and searching John’s eyes, mouth, neck and hands repeatedly with an examining and concentrated gaze. 

“Maybe you were right…about it being too fast,” John finally murmured, and before he could lose his nerve grabbed hold of Sherlock’s wrist and manhandled him onto the settee. Sherlock stared up at him, eyes wide again, but John ignored him and pulled the coffee table close, sitting down on it to be opposite Sherlock.

Sherlock lifted his hands when John reached towards him, “John, you don’t have to do this. You’re not--”

“If you’re right then I’ll find out and you can delete this entire situation from that brilliant mind of yours,” John mumbled.

“What about you? This could interfere with our friendship. Actually, it definitely will, either way, whatever the results, will be a strain on our relationship.”

John shook his head with a smile, “No. I won’t let that happen. I promise.”

Sherlock eyed him in disbelief but lowered his hands with a sigh and nodded, “All right. I suppose it’s only fair I be a subject in your experiment for a change.”

John cracked a smile and then laughed, his laughter joined with Sherlock’s own, “That’s true enough.”

John let it taper off naturally and then shuffled to the edge of the coffee table and reached for Sherlock again, hesitating and asking permission with a dip of his head and an arch of his brow, unlike before. Sherlock shifted his weight on the settee, leaned towards John and nodded briskly, pressing his mouth in a thin line momentarily. 

John cupped Sherlock’s face again, slid one hand to the back of his head, tilted his own and closed the remaining distance between them. Their lips met gently, breath warm on each other’s faces, and John closed his eyes again. Instead of a quick kiss, John lingered and pursed his mouth to kiss Sherlock again, then again, cradling the side of Sherlock jaw lightly. Sherlock was unresponsive, his mouth unmoving, and his breathing regular and comforting.

He was still slightly in shock from the first kiss. John had expected to feel more mortified than he had, sure he had felt awkward and unsure and extremely embarrassed, but it hadn’t been as bad as he’d thought. John had been kissed by men before, a rough friendly smooch on the cheek or forehead from some overly affectionate friends, but he had never kissed or been kissed on the mouth by a man. For his first experience of kissing a man it wasn’t half bad, and with Sherlock being as still as a statue but still yielding and friendly, it was almost pleasant. 

The rich male scent of Sherlock, his cologne, and his fancy shampoo, eased John’s nerves. Sherlock smelt like home, like safety and danger and excitement, reminded John of all the thrilling times he’d shared with Sherlock and lessened John’s racing mind. He felt bad for pouncing on Sherlock like he had, but Sherlock was the one person he trusted enough to not punch him in the face. No matter what John did, Sherlock would forgive him, like he forever forgave Sherlock. Sherlock was his best friend after all, whatever happened Sherlock would help him through it.

John kissed Sherlock for another few seconds more and went to pull back before Sherlock’s lips tensed, relaxed and then parted with a soft sigh. Suddenly the dry, one-sided kiss was wet, and Sherlock returned the kiss slowly but surely, his movements seemingly shy and inexperienced but rapidly gaining in confidence. 

Taken by surprise John’s mind stuttered. He hadn’t thought to ask or have Sherlock respond. John had just wanted to see if kissing Sherlock, a man, on the mouth would bring forth any hidden feelings from him. Sherlock, he knew, wasn’t interested in anything sexual or cared about relationships. When he had asked Sherlock what he had felt before he didn’t know what he had wanted to hear, didn’t know if he was asking him to make sure things could be repaired or if he was asking him to see if it had any sort of affect to him, be it nice or not.

Blinking his eyes open John stared at Sherlock’s closed eyelids and the fanning rows of dark lashes fluttering against his pale cheek. Sherlock’s hands, immobile and gloved earlier, slid bare to John’s knees awkwardly, palms hot and fingers half-curled.

The touch was insanely innocent and nervous and John looked down at them as much as he could. Sherlock’s fingers were intensely pale against the dark denim of his jeans and John gawked, tracing the lean line of each digit and then the bump of each knuckle. Sherlock’s fingertips twitched, fingernails scraping on the fabric and John swallowed, feeling guilty for pushing Sherlock into his messed up experiment, forcing him to endure his stupid and jumbled thought processes.

John leaned back an inch with a moist separation of lips and Sherlock’s mouth twisted and thinned, but his eyes stayed closed, his hands still on John’s knees. John waited for Sherlock’s mouth to relax again and instead of talking like he had planned, his eyelids drooped, his heart shuddered and he reconnected their mouths unthinkingly, angling Sherlock’s jaw with his fingers.

Sherlock exhaled deeply in response and the kiss intensified, and John leaned further forward, dislodging Sherlock’s hands as his knees dug into the edge of the settee. Sherlock’s hands wavered hopelessly for a moment and then landed on John’s arms, clutching his jumper as John flicked his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock mimicked him with a slick, sly curl of his own tongue and John huffed through his nose and pushed closer. Sherlock tasted of coffee and scones, and John nipped uncontrollably at Sherlock’s upper lip before grinding Sherlock’s lower between his teeth and tugging with a satisfying shaky breath in response as Sherlock slid to the edge of his seat, legs bracketing John’s own and hands grasping at John’s shoulders.

The hand on Sherlock’s jaw slid down his neck and sneaked under his neckline to touch the bare skin of Sherlock’s back, and then trailed up to cup his nape, urging him closer with the press of fingers. John’s other hand mussed a handful of soft, thick curls and then tightened a moment later, tugging very faintly but passionately at the captured strands, and the moan that escaped Sherlock’s throat in reaction was so deep and hoarse and loud that it vibrated down John’s body, buzzed through his skull and abruptly snapped John out of his daze.

John jerked backwards so hard and so fast that he almost fell off the end of the coffee table and took Sherlock with him. Breathing heavily both men stared at each other. Sherlock pulled his hands back and John shot up and out of the room as fast as he could, his face aflame and his heart thundering.

“Thanks, I think I’ve got my answer,” he muttered as he left and Sherlock fumbled, throwing an arm out at John as he got clumsily to his feet. John quickened his stride, entered his room and shut the door with shaking hands, leaning up against it.

“John, wait!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow John had avoided Sherlock completely for the following two days as he wallowed in his own thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More kissing is to follow I'm sure...if you lovely people want more that is?
> 
> Let me know what you think, leave a comment! 
> 
> *sorry about small chapters. I can lengthen them if you wish.

Somehow John had avoided Sherlock completely for the following two days as he wallowed in his own thoughts. After the so-called “experiment”, which had resulted in John not only realising that there may actually be something to what people had said, but in John finding out that Sherlock clearly was a sexual being, John had spent time researching and rechecking his sexuality, ready to get more of a grip on the current situation. However, apparently, he seemed to be still sexually and physically attracted to women as he had been before. Did that make him bisexual? Not only that, but male pornography did nothing for him, if anything it made him uncomfortable, but some porn did that anyway, what with the overacting and camera angles providing little to no simulation and a whole load of frustration. John tried a whole range of it over the span of two days and nights, so much that he was sure his poor laptop computer had developed a virus. 

On the third day John had taken to eyeing up men and women alike in the streets, and although he could look at a man and admit and acknowledge that he was physically good-looking, John felt nothing more. He wasn’t sexually interested and when he thought about kissing or touching them like he had with Sherlock he felt awkward and uncomfortable. John’s thoughts on women hadn’t changed in the slightest; he still found certain types of women sexually and physically pleasing and still underwent the same urges and thoughts as he always had. This confused John and on his way back to the flat he let his mind drift back to the “experiment”, to the fluttering of Sherlock’s lashes, to the hot sensation of his hands on John’s knees, to the feeling of his inexperienced but eager lips on John’s own, and to the vibrating moan that had shook John to his very core.

John paused on the street abruptly and blushed, tugging the ends of his coat over his crotch. Was it just Sherlock then? Had it always been just Sherlock? How was that possible? Everything about and around John seemed to revolve around the man. 

Continuing on, John increased his stride and entered the flat with trembling fingers and flushed cheeks. He dashed up the stairs; kicked off his shoes and hung up his coat before he realised Sherlock was seated at the table with his laptop.

“John--” Sherlock started.

“Can we talk later?” John asked, not turning to face him and tugging the edge of his jumper down over the very obvious and prominent bulge in his trousers.

“…No.” Sherlock replied curtly, voice cold and clipped. “I want to know what happens now. Will you leave? Is our friendship ruined? I did warn you about this, John. I warned you, but did you listen?”

“Nothing happens now. I won’t leave, you idiot. Our friendship is fine. And yes, I remembered you warned me, but nothing has changed--”

“Everything has changed!” Sherlock exclaimed, and John jumped at the sound of Sherlock hitting the table with his palm.

John clenched his eyes shut briefly and then turned to look over his shoulder at Sherlock. He was standing rigid and tall, his face blank but his eyes narrowed and gleaming with unknown emotions. John watched as Sherlock’s eyelids flickered and the emotions John had seen in his gaze were unexpectedly gone.

“Nothing has to change, Sherlock,” John said softly.

Sherlock scowled with a grimace and a sneer and stalked over to John so quickly that John fumbled and turned to fall back against the wall in surprise, “Sherlock--”

“Kiss me,” Sherlock demanded, voice dark and deep.

John looked up at him and swallowed thickly, watching the dilation of Sherlock’s pupils, entranced and suddenly lightheaded with desire. John shook his head and pushed Sherlock by the chest with one hand, but Sherlock resisted and moved closer, invading John’s personal space.

“You want to,” Sherlock murmured, flittering his eyes over John’s face as he tilted his head enticingly. “…I want you to.”

“Yeah,” John breathed but pushed harder until Sherlock took several steps back, “But listen…I…we…you—Christ sake! Look, I just need a bit more time to get my head around everything. And before you start, yes I know, it was my idea in the first place, my experiment, but it’s my life, my…my sexuality and I just need to deal with everything. I mean, I only recently found out that I’m not actually into men, just you. It’s…it’s just you, and that’s confusing to me, it’s strange, and I don’t know what to do about it at the moment. Nothing has to change between us though; I don’t expect anything from you and we can go back to how we were. Maybe it’s just one of those things…I still like women so I could--”

Sherlock interrupted him as he swooped in, cupped John’s head in his pale hands, and kissed him soundly on the mouth with a rough exhaled breath from his nose that cascaded over John’s face in a burst of heat. John was lost the moment Sherlock touched him and melted back into the wall whilst trying to push up to deepen the kiss at the same moment. The kiss was different than the one before, it was overly moist and hot and rough, Sherlock’s teeth catching on the dry skin of John’s lips and Sherlock’s fingers curling against John’s stubbly cheeks in an excited tremor. John grabbed at Sherlock’s shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin through the shirt he wore, and then pushed his fingers up into his hair to pull Sherlock down to which Sherlock submitted with another loud, rumbling, moan that seemed to fill the room as well as John. 

As before the sound was enough to bring John around but he didn’t jerk back like before, instead he gripped Sherlock’s hair and tugged, arching Sherlock’s neck as John pulled his head back until their mouths detached, a line of saliva the only thing still connecting them. Sherlock’s Adams apple bobbed and he shifted his weight, opening his eyes faintly to peer at John through his lashes, a crease forming between his brows. 

“John…” Sherlock suddenly whined, soft and husky, and John gripped at him tighter in response, taking a deep and uneven breath.

“What are we doing?” John whispered, clenching his jaw when Sherlock’s fingers rubbed down his face. “What are you doing? You don’t do this. Please tell me you’re not just doing this because…”

“No,” Sherlock replied, squeezing his eyes closed fleetingly. “Please…John…”

“Don’t,” John grunted, eyes dropping to the taunt line of Sherlock’s throat. It was all happening so fast. John had thought ahead, had made sure that he was ready for whatever answer he would get, but had never expected, hadn’t planned or thought things would go how they had. He certainly hadn’t expected Sherlock’s response, how could he have? Sherlock was an enigma at the best of times. 

“I need a bit more time,” John finally repeated, almost unable to tear his gaze away from Sherlock’s neck, from the quivering pulse. “And I think you do too…okay?”

Sherlock breathed silently for a moment or two and then sniffed and dropped his hands to his sides, “I would nod but…you still have hold of my head…”

John untangled his fingers from soft curls and cleared his throat, wiping his mouth with his fingers awkwardly, “Sorry…”

“It’s okay,” Sherlock sighed, looking down at him as he straightened to his height, his voice dipping throaty and vibrating. “I like it.”

They stood close to one another a few minutes more, until John took a sharp, shaky breath, and brushed passed Sherlock to splash some water on his face, stare at his reflection, and finally move to his bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock grinned at him over the headless and handless body and John huffed through his nose in amusement, the earlier situations, questions and problems forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter!  
> Probably another teaser chapter, like before! Sorry, not really, but still!
> 
> Leave a comment if you want more!  
> Let me know what you think!

John took another few days of time, of thinking, of dreaming, before a case cropped up and Sherlock’s white, lean, fingers at the sleeve of his coat dragged him along, excited and distracted and buzzing with thrilling morbid curiosity. Sherlock grinned at him over the headless and handless body and John huffed through his nose in amusement, the earlier situations, questions and problems forgotten. 

Sherlock was his usual enigmatic and excitable self, pouncing on witnesses and clues like a cat, his eyes narrowed and intense and forever flitting. John was blown away by Sherlock’s tenacity and pure, incredible intelligence repeatedly and for what amounted to four days before the case was fully wrapped up. In that time, John had forgotten what had recently plagued him almost completely, that was, however, until he looked beside him at Sherlock.

They were in Lestrade’s office, filling out some much-needed paper work as a thank you to the inspector when their eyes met. John felt his stomach drop, a torrent of tingles burst up his spine, and his knees go weak. Thankful for the chair he was seated on, John cleared his throat and shifted, flashing Sherlock a small sort of trembling smile as he tried to reign in whatever feelings and thoughts he suddenly seemed to be having. Most were to do with Sherlock’s mouth, and John let his eyes drop to it with a rough swallow, before he tore them away and back to the papers in front of him.

It was still difficult for John to understand everything, even after the time he’d taken to get his head around it, he still couldn’t believe what he actually felt. John wasn’t gay, nor was he bisexual, he just somehow, somewhere down the line, had developed a crush on his flatmate that everyone had been able to see but him. That was, of course, until he had gone and experimented. Perhaps he never should have done it? Should have carried on the way he had been before and been ignorant to it?

Sherlock had been right. Everything had changed. It hadn’t only changed some part of John, but some part of Sherlock too. For Sherlock to be responding the way he had been, John’s experiment must have shaken something loose. John had often had a passing thought on Sherlock’s sexuality, had once thought him gay only to then think him completely asexual. What exactly was Sherlock? Was he gay, like he had guessed at first, or was he in the same boat as John?

John didn’t know what any of it meant for them, for their friendship, he couldn’t really see a future with them in a relationship like he could with them in a friendship. Sherlock didn’t seem the romantic, domestic type, whereas John was forever seeking such things, so how could they ever work? John didn’t know what Sherlock wanted out of it all, either, he had seemed to not want to ruin the friendship, but had then demanded to be kissed by John a moment later.

“Are you finished?” Sherlock asked him, tone bored as he stifled a yawn with one hand and flipped his filled out forms across the desk irritably. “I want to go home. I hate it here.”

“Almost,” John replied, surprised at how calm and level his voice sounded. 

John wondered if he could just sweep it all under the rug. Sherlock didn’t seem to have remembered, and John didn’t exactly know what to make of that. Sherlock had been the same as usual throughout the case, and was acting the same after the case was done. John watched out of the corner of his eyes as Sherlock dropped his forehead on Lestrade’s desk with an over exaggerated groan and tapped his feet restlessly, the rhythm oddly familiar to John’s ears.

“It’s your fault we have so much to do,” John informed him, and smiled when Sherlock glared at him through his hair. 

“Come on, hurry up, John!” Sherlock complained leaning close suddenly to look over what John had put with a scoff. “Give me the pen, it’s better off I just do it for you, otherwise we’ll never get out of here...”

Sherlock’s close proximity made John’s brain freeze and he inhaled deeply through his nose. The slight sound made Sherlock turn to look at him with a frown, but at searching John’s face, the frown disappeared and Sherlock’s eyes were suddenly incredibly dark, his lips parting.

John tried to talk, tried to shake his head no, and snap out of his daze, but he was fully unable to and could only watch, frozen to his seat with a shudder, as Sherlock looked around, shuffled his chair closer and kissed John on the mouth.

The first kiss was light, barely anything at all, but the second made John’s heart stutter. It was soft, but heated and slick, and John returned it without a second thought, winding one hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock’s scarf was still damp from the drizzling London rain, and the contrasting temperature from that and the heat coming from Sherlock’s bare skin, made John’s head spin. John deepened the kiss with a lurch and a deep, garbled noise from the back of his throat. 

It was the first time he had properly made a sound during their kissing and it seemed to have the resulting affect of making Sherlock grunt and grip the lapels of John’s coat with flexing, shaking hands. John tipped Sherlock’s head aside and back and loomed over him, dominating his otherwise dominant flatmate. Sherlock arched flexibly and easily to him, and John gripped the edge of the desk with his free hand, dizzy with awash of arousal. 

The kiss increased in passion and eagerness, their mouths wetly parting only to meet again, over and over. John tugged at the hairs at Sherlock’s nape and Sherlock shuddered with a moist gasp, tipping his head to leave John to nip and scrape Sherlock’s bottom lip and chin with his teeth.

“John,” Sherlock murmured deeply with a sudden scrambling of limbs. “John…”

John lifted his head in reply and Sherlock shoved him back roughly. John landed on his chair with a puff of breath and blinked, twitching when Sherlock manhandled him to hold the pen again, poising it over the form as Sherlock himself adjusted his coat, wiped his mouth, and slumped, bored once more, over the desk. He was still breathing hard but he controlled it in a matter of seconds.

John could hardly think and frowned, unsure what to say or feel, until Lestrade stalked over and opened the door. John ducked his head and stared at the paper, willing the jumble of words to make sense to his lust-addled brain and licking his lips.

“Done?” 

John cleared his throat and flashed Greg a quick, but hopefully friendly smile, “Just got one last bit to do. Won’t take me long.”

“Lestrade can finish up,” Sherlock complained, voice a little too husky. Sherlock ignored the odd look he received and nabbed the form from John, thrusting it out at Greg.

John was thankful, but pretended to be annoyed and held his hands out in frustration. “Sherlock--”

“I haven’t slept, Doctor,” Sherlock bit out, his own annoyed pretence almost believable if it weren’t for the spot of colour on his cheeks. “I want to go home. We’ve done enough of this tiresome paperwork; Lestrade can fill out the rest. It’s the least he can do. I did, if you recall, solve the case, as always! I also caught the killer. Saved a child’s life—need a go on?”

Lestrade sighed deeply and rubbed two fingers along his brow, “Yes, yes, all right. I get it. Fine. You can go—but that doesn’t excuse you from paperwork in the future, Sherlock. Whether you’ve solved the case or caught the killer or saved a box of puppies, you still need to help with the bloody paperwork! It’s all connected. Cases equals paperwork. Now go, and for goodness sake get some rest!”

Sherlock stood up fluidly, kicking his chair back, and stalked from his office in a swirl of his coat. John watched him go for a moment, then took a breath and slowly stood, making sure to pull his coat closed.

“Thanks, Greg,” John said warmly with a nod.

“Yeah, yeah. Just look after him, Doctor,” Lestrade replied with a smile of his own and a fond nod in return.

John left his office slowly, wincing and trying not to walk too oddly as he made his way to the entrance of the building. He found Sherlock waiting for him outside, standing in the rain, and walked to his side when Sherlock skilfully, practically magically, hailed a cab for them with one flick of his arm.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ride in the taxi was filled with awkward silence, or awkward for John at least, whereas Sherlock seemed lost in thought, his face unreadable and the fingers of his left hand brushing the bottom of his chin in soft swipes that John couldn’t help but follow with his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you want more!  
> Let me know what you think!

The ride in the taxi was filled with awkward silence, or awkward for John at least, whereas Sherlock seemed lost in thought, his face unreadable and the fingers of his left hand brushing the bottom of his chin in soft swipes that John couldn’t help but follow with his eyes.

He wondered if Sherlock’s lips were still tingling like his were, and debated whether or not he would need to talk to Sherlock about it at the flat. Did he need to talk about it? Truthfully there was nothing to really talk about. They had kissed, again, and it had been more overpowering and mind numbing than the ones previous, and that really was it. John was still confused about the entire thing, the kissing, his feelings, and his urges, just everything. The more time that went by the more John wished he could have possibly not done what he had done to start what he knew he might not be able to stop. Kissing Sherlock was like a drug, it was addictive, like everything to do with Sherlock was, John had been with him for long enough to know that once you were caught up with Sherlock Holmes there was almost no possible way to escape. 

John’s trousers were still uncomfortably tight at the crotch and he shifted as casually as he could to rectify the problem, looking out of the window as he twisted his hips and adjusted his weight. He was so focused on not being so obvious that when Sherlock’s hand slipped onto his knee gently he physically jumped. Whipping his head around he looked first at Sherlock, then at his hand, his heart in his throat and a burst of heated desire that made his vision blur at the edges.

Sherlock turned to look at him with an infuriated expression, “Stop thinking so much, it’s annoying!” he grumbled, and the haze of arousal John had been high on drained so fast that he felt suddenly cold without it.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re thinking. Constantly. It’s annoying. Stop,” Sherlock said slowly as if he were talking to a three year old.

John leaned away from him against the door of the taxi and shot Sherlock a glare, “Well, I’m ever so sorry! I had no idea that my thoughts were loud enough to be a bother. I’ll try to keep it down from now on.”

Sherlock pursed his lips in displeasure and removed his hand, turning to gaze back outside with a blank face and a shift of his head. John continued to glare at him until all the earlier heat that had gathered had dispersed, and then turned to look out of the window himself, his jaw clenched.

Addicted to Sherlock he may be, but that didn’t mean he’d put up with Sherlock being a massive tosser. John didn’t know how he did it, how he knew that John was thinking a lot, but he was sure Sherlock didn’t know exactly what he was thinking about. Sherlock could certainly take a wild stab in the dark, and probably get it right, seeing as the thing John was thinking about only just happened, but he wasn’t sure if Sherlock would know everything John had considered, had thought, had troubled over. He didn’t know what John was going through, the confusion, the scary realisations and the constant paranoia and worries concerning the only decent, strong friendship he’s had in years.

“John. Stop,” Sherlock snapped so sharply that the cab driver glanced back at them from the mirror. “You’re overthinking and at this moment in time, you needn’t! Can’t you have a mini breakdown over it in your bedroom, like you usually do, away from me? I can’t concentrate with you continually fretting! I told you about this, I warned you, but you did it anyway! I knew you wouldn’t be able to deal with the outcome. Even if it had been a completely different one you’d be the exact same, doing the exact same amount of fussing! You’re pathetic!” 

John blinked at the last cutting remark and opened his mouth to reply just as the taxi pulled up outside their flat. Sherlock all but leapt out of the vehicle and ran to the door, getting it open in a matter of seconds and disappearing inside. The door bounced loudly off the inside wall and John pressed his lips together, rummaging in his pocket for his wallet to pay the fare.

Getting out he looked up at the dark window of the flat. Sherlock had probably gone straight to his room and John had no idea when the next time he might see him would be, knowing Sherlock’s dark moods it wouldn’t be for a while. John set his face sternly and walked inside, shutting the door behind him and smiling over at a shocked and awoken Mrs Hudson.

“Sorry for waking you Mrs H., go back to sleep, everything’s fine,” He assured her and only carried on up the steps once she had gone back inside and he’d taken several deep breaths.

As John expected Sherlock to be in his room he stuttered to a stop in shock when he got to the top and saw Sherlock was waiting for him at the doorway, like a shadow. Sherlock looked up at him, grimaced, sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he started, holding his hands out in a peaceful gesture and then stuffing them in his pockets once he saw that they were trembling very faintly. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I…I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes, you did,” John replied coldly.

“No,” Sherlock exhaled, shaking his head and looking straight at John. “No, I didn’t. I was…wrong. I didn’t mean it.”

John pushed passed him and moved further into the flat, waiting for Sherlock to shut the door behind him before he turned back around so they were facing each other, “It’s rare you say things you don’t mean, Sherlock.”

Sherlock rubbed his face tetchily, “I’m tired. I’m tired, and I can’t think, can’t concentrate. You think you’re the only one with thoughts and feelings and issues floating around in your head? I’m still human, as much as I detest it, I can’t change it. I just got so wound up because on top of my own thoughts, I had yours hitting me from the side as well, I could see the twitch of your leg and the clench of your hand and the purse of your mouth and I just knew that you were thinking about everything all over again, probably wondering about our friendship, my feelings, your feelings towards my feelings, and if you should talk to me about it all once we got back, and I just couldn’t take anymore information in my head.” Sherlock hissed, grabbing some of his curls tightly. 

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, but I can’t stop thinking things like that. Can’t turn it off like a tap. Can’t put it away for later, like you can. I’m a mess, I’m such a mess, that I still need to just... to sort my head out. I don’t know what to do. I’m lost, Sherlock. That’s why I’m constantly fretting and overthinking, because I don’t know what to do. I’ve had time to think it all over, to come to terms with what I found out, more than enough time by now, but I still can’t get my head around it,” John told him. “What does this mean for the future? Does it mean anything? Can it mean anything?”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock shrugged and scrubbed the heel of his palm into his eyes. “I shouldn’t have kissed you back there in Lestrade’s office either, by the way. I’m sorry about that too. I know that doesn’t exactly help matters.”

John blushed and nodded, clearing his throat, “It’s okay…it was very risky though, very risky indeed… I’m surprised we didn’t get caught.”

“I know,” Sherlock said slowly with a smirk and a sigh. “Should we…stop then? For good? Might be the best course of action, really. I know you don’t want to keep doing something you don’t understand or feel comfortable with. I just…want…you to be happy. We can go back to the way things were, it’ll take time but I have confidence that our friendship will survive…”

John regarded the wobbly smile Sherlock sent him and let out a determined breath, “You know what? Fuck it.”

Sherlock frowned and blinked, “What?”

“Fuck it. Forget everything I just said. Let’s just…keep…doing whatever…and see what happens,” John said, ignoring the nervous flutter in his stomach. “You’re right, I am overthinking things. I always do. Always have done. I should stop and just…just do whatever comes…comes naturally. It’s fine. Everything is just…just fine.”

“John…” Sherlock trailed off and swallowed, taking another breath to speak again. “Maybe you shouldn’t decide something like that so quickly--”

“Kissing you turns me on,” John blurted, talking over Sherlock. “There…I said it. No more overthinking or fretting. I like kissing you, love it in fact. I want to do it more. All the time. I think about doing it when I wake up, when I’m at work, and even when I’m buying milk for goodness sake…”

Stunned, Sherlock shuffled on the spot and then nodded, motioning at John with his hand, “Yes…yes, me too. Yes. Though, not so much with the milk buying…”

John walked over to him gradually with a grin and a quick laugh, “I…I want to kiss you now, in fact.”

Sherlock inclined his head eagerly and met John halfway with a quirk of his lips and a flush. John hesitated a moment, staring into Sherlock’s eyes as a rough spark of anxiety shot up his spine, and then reached out to grab the lapels of Sherlock’s coat, yanking him forwards to push their mouths together with a shudder that was answered instantaneously with a tremble of Sherlock’s arms as he grabbed onto John’s.

John pushed Sherlock back against a wall and deepened the kiss only to have Sherlock detach their mouths a second later, “I really am tired though. In fact, I think I might faint if I don’t go to bed now,” Sherlock laughed, squeezing John’s elbows. “I wasn’t lying to Lestrade…that time, anyway.”

“Yeah. Okay, that’s fine,” John mumbled with a smirk, leaning in to cautiously pepper Sherlock’s face with wet kisses. “Want me to carry you?”

“No. I think I can manage,” Sherlock huffed, though he remained in place against the wall, leaning in to John’s lips, repeatedly, and then returning another kiss to the mouth, his eyes fluttering closed when John pushed him back a little rougher into the wall and nipped at his top lip. 

John kept his own eyes open and watched the shifting of Sherlock’s expressions with intrigue. He was still wholly nervous, confused and lost, and he knew he’d not be able to stop thinking about the situation with Sherlock, that he’d regularly think about it over and over again until the cows came home, but he was going to at least try and enjoy what was clearly very enjoyable. He didn’t have to tell anyone about it, not that he was ashamed, but just that he couldn’t cope with the wall of questions it would obviously promote if he did tell someone. Plus whatever he felt about Sherlock, for Sherlock, especially whilst kissing him, John knew it could always just suddenly fizzle and die at some point in time too, run its course. Perhaps it really could be a phase? Perhaps they would run out of steam or lose interest? Sherlock could always get bored with it somewhere down the road, too, that was always a possibility, and that would definitely put a stop to it, that or John wanting more out of life than just kissing his flatmate every so often.

“Mm. You’re thinking too much again,” Sherlock murmured into his mouth, and John huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Sorry,” John said sarcastically, kissing Sherlock for a minute longer, before he pulled back and walked Sherlock to his bedroom. “Right, bed.”

Sherlock shot him a wink over his shoulder, “Oh? Already, my, you do work fast, John. Be gentle with me!”

John knew Sherlock was joking but it made him stumble nevertheless, “Come on,” he mumbled nervously, and let Sherlock lightly kiss him good night as he left the room.

In his own bed, John stared at the ceiling, Sherlock’s face circling his mind, as well as the feel of his lips and the sensation of bending over Sherlock’s body at Lestrade’s office. John covered his face and turned over to bury his head under his pillow. Be gentle, Sherlock had said. From what John had experienced so far, Sherlock seemed to like a firmer touch.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock slept for a full day and a half, and only spoke in grunts as John asked after him and made him some breakfast. He looked at John though, stared at him, and watched intently as John moved around the kitchen and then straightened up the cushions on the settee before collecting his laptop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it hot in here, or is it just them? It's them.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Leave a comment!  
> More comments, mean more chapters!

Sherlock slept for a full day and a half, and only spoke in grunts as John asked after him and made him some breakfast. He looked at John though, stared at him, and watched intently as John moved around the kitchen and then straightened up the cushions on the settee before collecting his laptop. John tried not to react to the tingling feeling at the back of his neck from the penetrating gaze but he shuddered after only two minutes, glancing over his shoulder. Sherlock was gazing at him from under his mussed fringe and John swallowed, smiling nervously in reply.

“You okay, Sherlock?” John asked, clearing his throat when his voice came out croaky.

When Sherlock didn’t move, let alone reply, John shifted uncertainly and frowned. Sherlock looked like a marble statue, his skin pale and flawless in the evening light. John flushed when his eyes zoned in on the flush arch of Sherlock’s top lip and looked away to carry on checking his emails, fingers trembling but rigid with tension. 

John still hadn’t gotten used to his new addicting desire to kiss Sherlock within an inch of his life, still hadn’t been able to wrap his head around having a crush on his flatmate, his very male flatmate; and since Sherlock had joked about John taking him to bed, it too hadn’t left his mind, and John had denied whatever it meant, pushing away any and all mental imagery of such a thing. The fact that kissing another bloke turned him on was one thing, one very strange and life-altering thing, but to actually wish to do something with his aroused state was something else entirely, something that both scared John and excited him to the point of madness. He didn’t necessary want to go back to how things were, not only because he wasn’t sure it could ever be the same as before, but John didn’t know what he should or shouldn’t do in their new relationship. John didn’t want to do something both he and Sherlock would regret.

“John.”

The sound of Sherlock’s voice, low, rumbling and still husky with sleep, made John’s heart race, “Yes?”

“Come here,” Sherlock said, and when John looked he saw Sherlock was smirking slightly, one corner of his mouth quirked. 

“Why?” John asked even as he put his laptop aside and got up, walking over with slow steps. “You okay?”

Sherlock waited until John was within arms distance and then got up from the kitchen table, stepped into John’s personal space and kissed him with a tea slicked tongue and hot teeth. John grabbed onto him without hesitation and deepened the kiss, closing his eyes in pleasure when Sherlock melted into his body with a sigh that had John caging Sherlock’s face with his hands in a sudden surge of possessiveness, which didn’t go unnoticed. 

They kissed like they’d been starved of each other for years, their hands gripping and tugging and stroking, and John backed Sherlock into a wall before he had fully thought about it. Both of them met with a dull thud and the thin material of Sherlock’s pyjamas and dressing gown allowed John to fully appreciate the entire lean, trembling, length of Sherlock’s form, his muscles jumping as John combed the fingers of both his hands up into Sherlock’s hair. John’s own clothes consisted of a light jumper and jeans, and he could feel the heat radiating off Sherlock seep through each layer as he pressed closer with a wet exhale. 

Sherlock groaned shakily as their hips met and John paused, pulling their lips apart an inch at the sensation of the straining shape of Sherlock’s erection. He swallowed thickly and opened his eyes, but Sherlock’s were still closed, his cheeks flushed and lips shiny and red. John’s own erection was cramped and throbbing in his trousers, and he slowly shifted his hips to rut into Sherlock instinctively, barely holding back a moan at the resulting spark of yearning it triggered. John didn’t fully know how to react or respond to enjoying the prod of another man’s cock against his hip and stomach, but he was lightheaded with arousal and blinked roughly as he arched up on the soles of his feet to impulsively grind up Sherlock’s body; his mind might have been short-circuiting with confusion but his body seemed to know what it wanted and John grunted deeply as he moved against Sherlock again, angling his hips to bump the crotch of his trousers into Sherlock’s. 

Reaffirming his grip in Sherlock’s hair, John stared at Sherlock’s mouth as Sherlock panted and all but purred in pleasure. After a moment Sherlock’s mouth twitched and then twisted anxiously, and John only noticed Sherlock’s left arm had moved when Sherlock’s fingers detangled John’s right hand from Sherlock’s hair. Slowly, timidly, John’s hand was relocated, and John’s shaking fingers slid over the soft curve of Sherlock’s silk covered backside, feather-light until a flush of desire promoted John to squeeze roughly, something that had Sherlock arching from the wall with a strangled sound when he did just that. John mouthed at Sherlock’s chin and then reattached their mouths eagerly, engulfing Sherlock’s guttural moan as he pulled Sherlock into the thrust of his hips with an impatient hand.

John wanted so many things at once in that moment, his head flooded with hot edged imagery that only pitched him onwards, pushed him into Sherlock harder; and when fluttering, innocent fingers touched his hip, something inside John snapped and he turned them around, grabbed Sherlock about the waist and lifted him onto the kitchen table, scattering the empty plate and tea cup with a loud clatter of pottery. Inserting himself between Sherlock’s legs he kissed Sherlock harder, hotter, and deeper, and bucked against him, grabbing Sherlock’s backside with both hands to pull Sherlock’s hips flush with his own over and over again.

Sherlock scrambled at the edge of the table with his hands and then gripped handfuls of John’s jumper at his back tightly, gradually moaning into John’s mouth with each thrust, his voice wanton and deep. The table creaked and squeaked as their movements quickened, and John drove one of his hands under Sherlock’s dressing gown and top to touch bare skin, scraping his nails down the working stretch of Sherlock’s back when their kissing became disjointed and messy. Sherlock’s skin was scorching hot and slippery with sweat under John’s hand, and it only served to turn John on more as he worked his other hand into the waistband of Sherlock’s pyjama bottoms to cup the naked skin of Sherlock’s tensing backside.

At the touch Sherlock jolted bodily and then suddenly gasped, arching taut and straining as he rutted frantically against John for a moment or two before violently shuddering with a drawn-out groan that quivered and shook the air around them. The sight and sound of Sherlock climaxing brought John to his own apex swift and abruptly, taking John by surprise with a burst of light behind his eyes and a passionate, hard thrusting of his hips. 

The high of orgasm was over in the few seconds of silence that followed, and John stared at Sherlock, breathing heavily and shaking, his hands still gripping Sherlock’s twitching skin. John made to jump back in embarrassment but the boneless state Sherlock relaxed into made him hesitate and he watched as Sherlock opened his eyes and glanced down at the state of his pyjamas with a deeper blush of his neck and cheeks and a grimace.

When their eyes met, John sluggishly removed his hands and placed them on the kitchen table astride Sherlock’s spread legs as he regained his breath and composure. Sherlock smiled at him coyly and before John could return it, Sherlock leaned forward to kiss him lightly, leaving John’s lips tingling.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” John demanded a couple of hours later, after both he and Sherlock had silently separated, Sherlock to the bathroom and John to his room for a change of clothes. “You somehow knew that I was thinking about…about…”
> 
> “About?” Sherlock repeated with an air of nonchalant innocence to him that John didn’t believe for a second, his hair wet and a towel at his hips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John continues to freak and over-think and makes things uncomfortable.
> 
> This could be considered a teaser chapter...
> 
>  

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” John demanded a couple of hours later, after both he and Sherlock had silently separated, Sherlock to the bathroom and John to his room for a change of clothes. “You somehow knew that I was thinking about…about…”

“About?” Sherlock repeated with an air of nonchalant innocence to him that John didn’t believe for a second, his hair wet and a towel at his hips.

“And you…what, did that to shut my mind up? Thinking too loudly again was I?” John asked, knowing he was having some sort of crisis but unable to stop the torrent of words and emotions. “Oh God…we…I…you…we shouldn’t have done that. This is…this is bad. Kissing is…is…but that…that was something else entirely and I don’t think we should have—Christ, I think we bent one of the legs of the table!”

Sherlock looked over and then slowly glanced back at John, “No, it was like that before. I did it, don’t you remember? When I had brought home that anchor?”

John frowned and then nodded, “Right. Yes. Of course. Stupid of me to think…to think that…”

“John, calm down, you’re hyperventilating for goodness sake,” Sherlock exclaimed, his face layered in worry as he began walking over until John signalled for him to stop.

“No! Don’t! You’re basically naked,” John shouted, covering his face with one hand and waving his other in Sherlock’s direction. “Get something on!” 

Sherlock snorted in amusement, “John…”

“I need to sit down,” John muttered, turning on the spot and then sitting on his chair, shifting and covering his face again, then standing up, before sitting back down once more.

Sherlock watched him and then sauntered over slowly, “Fuck it.”

John peeked through his fingers at him and frowned, “What?”

“Wasn’t that what you said?” Sherlock asked, knowing full well that John had indeed said it. “To forget everything and keep doing whatever, see what happens? Mm? That was what you said, wasn’t it?”

John angled his jaw and dropped his hand, inhaling deeply, and watched as Sherlock blinked at him expressively, turned and plucked a biscuit from the biscuit tin John had left on the coffee table, chewing it with a smile.

“Yes…yes, but,” John tried as Sherlock tilted his head in patronising interest. “Don’t give me that look! I wasn’t expecting to…to—Look, don’t you think it’s going a tad fast? This thing between us?”

“No,” Sherlock replied, taking another biscuit and biting into it with a snap.

John looked away, rubbed his face, and then sighed with a faint nod. His heart was still thundering, and he was quite sure he was having a panic attack. John had never done anything like he had done with Sherlock, not with a man at any rate. The fact that he had touched Sherlock in such a way, had enjoyed it more than he had anything in a long time, and had even wanted to do it again, not seconds afterwards, despite not being a teenager anymore, scared John massively. Getting turned on by kissing a bloke, kissing Sherlock, was rather quickly morphing into wanting to do more than kiss Sherlock, an urge that only seemed to have expanded at seeing Sherlock in a towel.

“Could you please get some clothes on?” John pleaded.

Sherlock plonked down on his chair, crossed his legs sophisticatedly and gave John a look of pure impatience, “No.”

“Doesn’t this worry you at all? Aren’t you affected by what we just…did?”

“I really wish you’d stop asking me stupid questions, John. I thought you were going to at least try to stop overthinking so much, I understand it might take some time, but really. Yes, we basically just engaged in some sort of non-penetrative sex on the kitchen table--”

“Please don’t say it aloud…”

“—Yes, it terrifies me how much I enjoyed it; yes, I’d very much like to do it again, preferably not in the kitchen; yes, I’m never going to look at the table the same way again; yes, I want you to touch me; yes, that’s why I’ve not gotten changed yet; and no, I don’t regret what we did.” Sherlock said in one breath, brushing crumbs from his legs.

John licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry, and nervously scratched the back of one ear, “You…you want to do it again?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Yes. Possibly not wearing clothes--”

“Oh God…”

Sherlock’s mouth bent on a smirk and he covered it with his fingers, leaning on his elbow, “If you’re this easily riled up, our future is going to be packed full of fun.”

John laughed and leaned back, “I’m sorry…sorry, I just—I don’t know,” he muttered, smiling at Sherlock and looking away the moment his eyes wandered. 

“At least you’ve calmed down now.”

“Yes…sort of. A little.” John grinned, glancing at the kitchen table with a blush.

“John, it’s true that things aren’t the same anymore, but our lives don’t have to change immeasurably,” Sherlock told him, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “I’ll still subject you to my violin at all hours, my black moods, and my insistent observations, not to mention we’ll still have cases. The only real difference is the sexual side to our relationship, which won’t happen as daily as you’re worrying over. You know my methods, you know me—Granted I told you that I’m married to my work and that I consider my body merely transport, but…that was then, this is now. Although, saying that, I still am married to my work and I will ignore my body when I’m working.”

John nodded, “And…what about…relationships, other ones I mean?” he asked, wanting to take it back almost immediately. “If…if I—if either of us meet someone or…or…I don’t know how this is going to work in the long run, this thing, so I just don’t know what to think about--”

“Don’t then.”

“Don’t what?” John frowned.

“Think,” Sherlock said with a shrug, not looking him in the eye any longer. 

John winced inwardly at the sudden shift in atmosphere and opened his mouth to speak before Sherlock stood up and walked off, “Where are you going?”

“Getting changed,” Sherlock intoned.

“I…I thought you want me to touch you?” John asked unthinkingly, springing to his feet. “You said before that--”

“I lied,” Sherlock replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and disappeared a second later. “Fortunately for you.” 

“Wait,” John implored, as Sherlock turned away, and stalked over to him, his heart thundering. He paused before Sherlock, hesitated only briefly, turned Sherlock fully around and kissed him. 

Sherlock pulled back almost instantly, “I’m not--” he started, cutting short when John placed his hand on Sherlock’s bare chest and self-consciously stroked up and around his neck, twisting his fingers into the damp curls at Sherlock’s nape with a nervous smile.

Sherlock let out a shaky sigh and submitted to the pull of John’s hand as John kissed him again, sucking Sherlock’s bottom lip into his mouth briefly. The kiss was passionate and slow, their tongues meeting time and time again, and John gripped Sherlock’s naked back with both hands, yanking him close with a surge of wanton lust. 

John followed the dip of Sherlock’s spine with his fingers, pushing down on the jumping muscles of Sherlock’s back with his palms, and brushed the tips of his index fingers into the dimples above Sherlock’s backside with a shudder that Sherlock mirrored. Sherlock’s skin was soft and smooth and flushed, and John gave in to the impulse to grip Sherlock’s hips just as Sherlock pulled back and looked at John with a mixed and complicated expression.

“What?” John breathed, glancing to and from Sherlock’s mouth and eyes.

“Nothing,” Sherlock rumbled, stepping away fully and leaving John’s arms cold. “I’m going to get dressed before Mrs Hudson comes up with the plate of cupcakes she baked yesterday morning and lectures me about my state of undress. Again.”

John gulped at the sudden lump of disappointment and pang of yearning, and stuffed his hands in his pockets, “Right. Okay, yeah. Best do that. Don’t want to…to…”

“Right,” Sherlock nodded, wandering into his bedroom and shutting the door without a backwards glance.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock did not come back out of his bedroom and since the incident in the kitchen, and the scene afterwards, Sherlock had not spoken to John and had stayed coped up in his room for the following five days. John had paused before his bedroom door time and time again, but always ended up walking away awkwardly with his hands in his pockets and his brow furrowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock overreacts...or does he?
> 
> Yeah, he probably does.
> 
> This chapter was hella fun to write, seriously!  
> I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Things will only heat up from here I think.

Sherlock did not come back out of his bedroom and since the incident in the kitchen, and the scene afterwards, Sherlock had not spoken to John and had stayed coped up in his room for the following five days. John had paused before his bedroom door time and time again, but always ended up walking away awkwardly with his hands in his pockets and his brow furrowed.

On the sixth day Sherlock emerged fully dressed and stoic, snubbed John’s attempt at conversation, grabbed the kitchen table, smashed it into the floor violently and repeatedly, and left without a word, passing by a troubled and confused Mrs Hudson without so much as a glance. 

John apologised automatically and shooed Mrs Hudson back down the stairs, waving his hand dismissively when she tried to get to the bottom of Sherlock’s recent tantrum, “It’s nothing,” he told her with a tight smile that tugged on the muscles in his face so hard that he was sure he’d pulled something when he looked down at the broken kitchen table with an odd twinge in his chest.

Sherlock hadn’t exactly been subtle but John still held out hope that he hadn’t truly meant what he had displayed and ignored the cold feeling in his gut as he picked up the table and carried it outside, slotting it beside Mrs Hudson’s bins with a pang. He turned to walk back inside but paused, looked back at the table and sighed, picking it back up to dump into his bedroom without fully knowing why.

John tried not to think about what he had said to Sherlock and Sherlock’s response, tried not to fret more than he already had in the days following his un-thought-out experiment, and tried to go on like everything was normal when it clearly wasn’t. He thought about Sherlock, about Sherlock’s eyes, his mouth, his laugh, his hands, his hair, and his body, and wished he wouldn’t, wished he could stop. John knew that things could very well go sour following his own stupidity and that Sherlock could easily end what John had started, erase his memory of the entire ordeal and leave John to suffer alone.

When he saw Sherlock again it was late in the evening and Sherlock had entered the flat the same way he had left, wordlessly and indifferent. John watched him from the corners of his eyes, resolved to not turn around, and pretended to be more interested in the programme he had picked at random on the television. Sherlock paused briefly to look into the kitchen, and then he tilted his head, huffed with a twist of his mouth, and sauntered into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

John sighed and got up a few minutes later, walking to Sherlock’s door only to jump back when it opened and Sherlock stared out at him with a cold and calculating look, hands tight and unforgiving around the door handle and curled around the doorframe.

“What?” Sherlock asked, curtly.

John blinked at the harsh tone and then frowned, “I…I’m sorry. I obviously hurt you in some way and I--”

“You didn’t.”

“…What?”

Sherlock cocked a haughty eyebrow, “You have nothing to apologise for. We done?”

John stepped through the threshold with a jerk, slamming his hand into the closing door, “What do you want me to say? Do you want me to take it back? It wasn’t my intention to anger or upset you, Sherlock, I was just asking a question, I just wanted to know what…what this was and what the perimeters are and what I should think—”

“Get out of my room,” Sherlock interrupted sharply.

“Aren’t we going to talk about this?” John asked in frustration.

Sherlock’s face seemed to turn feral and John lifted his brows in response, “Get out.”

“No.”

“Get. Out,” Sherlock repeated, voice dark and trembling.

John widened his stance and set his jaw, “No. We need to talk about this.”

“Talking with you accomplishes nothing,” Sherlock muttered, dangerously angry, his fingers tightening on the door handle. “You think too much. You talk too much. You’re boring and annoying and I’ve had enough of you. Get out of my room, John.”

“Just tell me what I did wrong? We both agreed that we didn’t want anything to ruin our friendship…didn’t we? I know I must be infuriating, I know that…but Sherlock I—I can’t stop thinking about you. I…I really…want…to keep going. I know I overreacted, or keep overreacting rather, but it’s just--”

“Enough!” Sherlock bellowed. “Get out of my room, John!”

“No!”

Sherlock let go of the door, took three steps into his room and then rounded on John again with a blazing fury, “If you don’t remove yourself from my presence--”

John grabbed him roughly and their mouths connected painfully with a clink of teeth that made them both wince. Sherlock struggled against John’s hold and kneed him suddenly in the gut, punching John in the face when John doubled over and stumbled back. John touched his cheek in shock and then dodged sideways when Sherlock punched out again, twirling on the spot to catch John on the jaw with another swipe.

“Get out!” Sherlock shouted, striking out once more only to get his arm twisted behind his back in one swift and smooth motion as John pushed him down onto the bed. Sherlock growled, squirmed and bucked hard enough to send them both tumbling to the floor.

They wrestled intensely, rolling around on Sherlock’s bedroom floor and punching and kicking at each other angrily. John was strong but Sherlock was lithe, and he wriggled out of the way of most of John’s hits, landing a few blows to John’s ribs in a rapid-fire motion that mirrored the way his expression shifted, and he even tried to head-butt John when John leaned close to grab his arms in a steely grip. John was stunned, angry, and a little hurt by Sherlock’s reactions, and he stared down at Sherlock’s furrowed brow and bared teeth with his heart in his throat.

Sherlock got in another hit to John’s face while John was distracted and John tongued his split lip and redoubled his efforts, pinning Sherlock beneath him with an unforgiving grip on Sherlock’s wrists that must have grated bones painfully going from the look of Sherlock’s face. John could feel the tensed length of Sherlock’s body under him, every muscle pulled taut with the heat and the surge of rage, and it made something in his gut twist. 

Panting, Sherlock strained and arched under John, wriggling and kicking out with a roar of frustration before finally going still. Sherlock didn’t meet John’s eyes though, and instead scowled at the ceiling as if the intensity of his gaze could set it alight. 

John glared down at him but leaned in and kissed Sherlock’s mouth lightly, then with more pressure when Sherlock swallowed and clenched his jaw tighter. John kissed Sherlock again, and then again, and again, until Sherlock’s eyes suddenly fluttered and he pursed his lips in response, kissing John back very faintly with a long breath through his nostrils. A flush of domineering affection drowned John immediately and John loosened his hold on Sherlock’s wrists and deepened the kiss with a low sound in his throat when Sherlock opened his mouth to him and arched his head up, allowing the shift eagerly.

The change in tension, in atmosphere, was dizzying and John wavered with a quiet breath as his body shifted tact and his mind blanked with a burst of light behind his eyelids. It had felt like an eternity since John had kissed Sherlock and John was overcome with arousal and eagerness, his skin heating and prickling tightly in desire as he gave in to the sudden and slightly painful throb of emotion in his chest. He couldn’t think; could hardly move for a second, and all the places Sherlock had hit only served to increase his strong urge to pull Sherlock closer and kiss Sherlock harder. 

John could taste his own blood on his tongue as he let one of Sherlock’s arms go to tip Sherlock’s head up and increase the motion of their mouths with a moist and throaty groan, digging his fingers into the soft curls at the base of Sherlock’s skull and pulling passionately. Sherlock whimpered and their lips separated briefly with a slick smacking sound that shot straight to John’s groin, the surge and rush of heat and craving so strong that John was sure the ground moved.

With one of his hands free, Sherlock gripped at John’s shoulder and pitched up off the floor with a moan, knocking his pelvis up into John from where he was straddling Sherlock’s waist. The movement was fervent and soaked with intent and want. The hard length of Sherlock’s erection knocked roughly between John’s legs and John tensed, jerked back and dragged Sherlock up to his feet with a flood of eagerness.

Sherlock’s shirt buttons popped and scattered as John all but ripped it open, wrenching it down Sherlock’s arms and throwing it carelessly to the floor in a heap of soft fabric. Sherlock had tripped backwards from the force of John’s impatience with wide, dark eyes, and John followed him with a wild expression, tearing at Sherlock’s trousers so hard that he broke the zip and split a seam, shoving them down Sherlock’s trembling thighs. 

John, crazy with need, kissed Sherlock again, smearing the blood from his lip over Sherlock’s mouth and chin, and curled his fingers into the waistband of Sherlock’s underwear without hesitation, yanking at them until Sherlock winced and then gasped, the fleshy slap of Sherlock’s cock connecting stiffly with his abdomen loud in the darkened room. John’s own erection was throbbing painfully from the constricting confines of his trousers, and it triggered the memory of how he had bucked against Sherlock on the kitchen table, the scene so fresh in his mind that it left him breathless for a moment, his hips twitching, as he reached down to adjust himself and simultaneously open his trousers. 

In the next second John repositioned both hands to Sherlock’s hips, and before Sherlock could do more than whine at the firm grip, John threw him up and over the bed in an inelegant sprawl, roughly hauling Sherlock’s trousers and underwear the rest of the way off, throwing them half way across the room.

Sherlock had landed half on his stomach on the bed and he turned slowly to look at John, breathing hard and blushing from the tops of his ears to his sternum. John looked down as Sherlock covered his crotch with one shaking, timid hand, and John knocked his knees brutally into the edge of the bedframe as he pounced up the bed towards Sherlock, crawling up his prone body to kiss him again with a growl. Sherlock shuddered beneath John and stared up at him when John pulled back to struggle out of his own top, chucking it over the bed. Sherlock’s eyes flitted rapidly over John’s injured shoulder but the sharp focus of interest in his gaze dulled once more after John gripped his hair and licked into his mouth, rubbing their naked chests together in the process.

The sensation of skin on skin contact almost sent John over the edge of ecstasy and he groaned, deep and loud and rough against Sherlock’s lips, nudging Sherlock’s legs apart with his knees and one impatient hand. His trousers creaked out a warning as John crumpled them and his underwear down to his knees, and then tangled themselves around John’s ankles for a few moments before John kicked them off forcefully. John’s erection bobbed freely, the slicked flesh of the head meeting Sherlock’s own with a brief kiss of skin that had Sherlock throwing back his head and arching his throat for John’s teeth. 

John looked down between their bodies when Sherlock’s legs clamped powerfully to his hips and trembled, and he stared, breathing hard, at the twitching, flushed, wet sight of Sherlock’s penis. John’s brain seized up for one blinding second before he was tipping his hips and dragging the end of his erection up the underside of Sherlock’s, trailing moisture over the hard and hot skin. Sherlock stiffened entirely, holding his breath, and then reacted all at once, chocking loudly on a harsh inhale and rutting powerfully into John’s body twice as his erection flushed dark, hardened further and pulsed roughly, covering both of them in a hot splattering of ejaculate.

Cursing under his breath, John lifted his head and kissed Sherlock’s open mouth messily as he bucked and ground himself into the mess painting the quivering muscles of Sherlock’s lean stomach, slotting his cock aside Sherlock’s over and over again until he too climaxed not seconds later, covering Sherlock’s heaving torso with several hard spurts that left John lightheaded and sore. 

As always, the sparks of orgasm faded quickly, and John rolled off to the side, pressing their shoulders together. Sherlock was still panting, and his eyes were closed, the blush on his cheeks deep and botchy, and John watched him warily and self-conscious. What he had just done caught up with John in that moment and he gripped the bed in mortification and panic, unable to stop the violent beating of his heart. John knew he had wanted it, knew he had chosen to do what he had done, but there was still a part of him that was scared by the whole thing, scared of his feelings towards Sherlock and what they had done and what he wanted to do. 

John waited for it to lessen, gritting his teeth and hating himself for seesawing between emotions so violently and quickly and endlessly. He was still new at what he was doing with Sherlock, what he yearned to do, and so the thoughts and feelings continually took by surprise and flipped his world upside down and back to front. 

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, he lifted his head and smeared a trembling hand through the mess of his stomach with a look of discomfort, catching some of it on his fingers as it dribbled down his sides towards the bed sheets.

“I’ll just…” John muttered, clearing his throat when his voice came out overly husky and then sitting up when Sherlock looked at him. John paused, stared back at Sherlock, and then flicked his gaze along Sherlock’s body awkwardly once Sherlock looked away with a downturned mouth.

Sherlock’s penis was still half-hard and twitching, the skin flushed pink and glistening wet. John knew he’d never be able to get the sight out of his mind and took a shaky breath, turning to rifle through Sherlock’s bedside drawers, leaning over Sherlock to reach the other side. He found the tissues in the third drawer and took a clumsy handful, mopping up their joint essence from Sherlock quivering skin. When he moved to clean Sherlock’s manhood he hesitated and Sherlock took the tissues away from him shyly, avoiding John’s eyes as he scrubbed the rest away, wiped his fingers, and threw the damp wad into the bin before rolling onto his side. 

John swallowed thickly, cleaned himself up, and then shifted closer to Sherlock’s curved back, “Sherlock…”

“Get out,” Sherlock whispered.

“No,” John frowned, leaning over before he lost his nerve and kissing Sherlock’s shoulder, then his neck, pulling on Sherlock’s arm until he turned back around and then kissing Sherlock’s lips lightly. Sherlock’s eyes were lidded and he looked lethargic and relaxed from orgasm, he didn’t fight or struggle when John cupped his jaw and deepened the kiss, and instead limply ran his fingertips down John’s cheek.

Sherlock sighed with closed eyes when John moved back and John gathered him up, throwing back the covers to drag Sherlock under them with him, curling up to Sherlock’s side tentatively.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John slipped out of the bed in the morning, careful not to jostle and wake Sherlock, and gathered up his clothes, tiptoeing from the room with a blush. He lingered just outside the door when Sherlock stirred and turned over, and looked back to see Sherlock slumping into the space John had left, the covers crumpled down around his naked waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it this new chapter!

John slipped out of the bed in the morning, careful not to jostle and wake Sherlock, and gathered up his clothes, tiptoeing from the room with a blush. He lingered just outside the door when Sherlock stirred and turned over, and looked back to see Sherlock slumping into the space John had left, the covers crumpled down around his naked waist. John swallowed thickly and dragged his eyes away, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it as he took several deep but shaky breaths, trying to compose himself and push back the rising panic attack that he knew was crawling sharply up his throat and constricting his chest.

He pushed off and made it to his room before his legs buckled and he sat down on the edge of his bed, dropping his clothes and breathing loudly and deeply, his eyes shut tight. John shook his head and punched his thighs, then straightened and let out a long exhale, looking around his room. The broken kitchen table met his gaze and he blinked at it in confusion for a moment, then huffed out a soft laugh and got up, walking over to touch it with his fingertips, eyeing the bent leg and the crumpled and dented surface from Sherlock’s previous violent outburst. Remembering Sherlock’s actions made him also recall the fight they had had before and John touched his face, prodding his swollen lip and what felt like a black eye, before he glanced down to see the bruises at his ribs. They weren’t bad, in fact, John was sure that Sherlock hadn’t used his full strength and had held back for a lot of the blows; something that John had also done, not wanting to hurt Sherlock even with Sherlock thrashing and snarling under him in a fit of rage. The sight of the marks made John grin widely with a boyish sort of expression and he collected a bundle of fresh clothes and headed for a quick shower, ignoring a sudden flare of arousal when he sucked at his sore lip. Once he hopped out a few minutes later, John dressed hurriedly with sudden determination and jogged back to his room, gathered up the crooked table and carried it from the flat as quietly as he could.

While he was gone from the flat he forced himself to think about what he had done with Sherlock, picking apart his thoughts and feelings concerning each and every kiss and sexual encounter, finding that amongst the panic and the fear and the apprehension, there was a strong feeling of it all being right, of feeling complete with being so close to Sherlock in every way; an almost blinding emotion of affection and eagerness in his chest that John could only relate to the sort of feelings he used to have with long-term girlfriends. However, with Sherlock, it was rather different, and when he grabbed hold of it, it filled John quickly, seeping into every inch of him in a bloom of heat and a strong ache of his heart. John felt whole and out of his mind with happiness, and he continued to inspect and hold onto the strange but dazzling feeling, flinching inwardly with amused shock when his heart rate increased. Once John let go of it, the resounding echo of it buzzed and tingled through his limbs and up his spine, encaged in the next second by a piercing spurt of anxiety at the gravity of such feelings and what it could ultimately mean.

He loved Sherlock, it was no secret, Sherlock was his best friend, but John had been starting to peer closer at the love he had for his friend and flatmate because of recent events of the aftermath of John’s experiment. Something had definitely changed, for both of them, and John wanted to finally embrace it after running away scared from it over and over again. He knew it would take some effort and even more time for him to finally be able to do something new with Sherlock without freaking out and he hoped that Sherlock had the patience to wait it out with him. In addition John knew he had to discuss things again with Sherlock, had to find out what exactly had upset Sherlock so much before and ask him why it had affected him so, then work out what to do about whatever it was. John knew it was his flippant comment about other relationships that had annoyed Sherlock but didn’t fully know why; surely Sherlock didn’t want a relationship with him, did he? 

Sherlock had always been somewhat frustrated with John’s wandering attention and line of girlfriends, but he had never reacted so aggressively or angrily before; yet he had responded as if John had cheated on him or betrayed him in some way for merely asking a simple, innocent, stupid question. What was it they were in? Was it a relationship, and if so, what sort was it? Presently it only seemed physical, and if it was just physical, why was Sherlock so angry? Was Sherlock just as messed up and confused as John was? More and more questions piled up inside his head, some long, some short, all nonsensical and complicated and senseless. 

John carried the table back in through the flat and up the stairs slowly, panting but grinning as he lifted it over his head slightly, taking it through to the kitchen and finally putting it down. He leaned on it and patted it with a breathless chuckle, then straightened and turned to go wash his sweaty face, but froze at the sight of Sherlock standing behind him. Sherlock looked from John to the table, eyeing every inch of it with a slow tilt of his head.

“You…fixed it,” Sherlock murmured.

“Yeah,” John replied quietly, shifting awkwardly. Sherlock was wearing his dressing gown loosely tied and nothing else, his hair was in disarray and his gaze was still marginally glazed from sleep. There was a scattering of bruises over his skin from their tussle, one of them at his jaw and another on one arc of his cheekbone, and two rings on his arms and wrists where John and pinned him. John swallowed and scratched the back of his head, clearing his throat, about to apologise, when Sherlock closed the remaining distance to look more closely at the table.

Sherlock then huffed and the smile that slipped on his face was big and bright, “Everything but the bent leg.”

John turned to look and nodded, “Well, yeah. I thought it gave it…you know, character? Don’t you think so? And…I thought it would be funny…”

“Yes, I see…” Sherlock said, stifling a laugh and then looking at John with an expression that made John’s heart flutter. “I had assumed you threw it away. When I saw it was gone…I thought you had gotten rid.”

“I couldn’t,” John replied, smoothing a hand over the surface, dipping his finger into a scorch mark left by one of Sherlock’s experiments involving a defective Bunsen burner. “I…didn’t want to. I broke it so…I thought I’d better fix it.”

Sherlock’s smile twitched and then disappeared and John tensed, wondering if he had said the wrong thing, but Sherlock lunged suddenly forwards and embraced him in an overly tight and warm hug that John eagerly returned without a second thought. Sherlock pressed his face into John’s neck and gripped his shoulders, tightening his hold when John cupped the back of his neck and wrapped an arm around his trim waist. John felt the same build up of emotion that he had grasped hold of before, and instead of worrying over what it meant and what it would do; he let it overtake him and squeezed Sherlock as he turned to inhale the scent of Sherlock from his dressing gown, then his hair. 

The grip lasted longer than John had thought possible and when Sherlock drew back, he swayed with a broad grin and looked at Sherlock with a giggle, “That was the biggest and longest hug I’ve ever received.”

“Good,” Sherlock smiled, running a hand through his hair looking abruptly young and nervous as he glanced at John through his lashes. “Not sure we’ve ever hugged before…”

“No, me neither, not like that anyway,” John said, feeling over the moon and unable to stand still. “Sorry that I’m so sweaty, it’s hard work carrying that thing up and down stairs, and in and out of doors.”

Sherlock’s smile transformed into a smirk slowly and seductively, and he motioned over his shoulder with a casual air, “Mm. I was just about to hop in the shower—you’re welcome to join me?”

“God, yes,” John heard himself reply before he had fully comprehended Sherlock’s words. “I mean, if…if that’s okay? Is that okay? Maybe we shouldn’t. Actually I…um…I already had a shower this morning, and I’m not really that sweaty, just need to…wash my face and that…”

Sherlock sighed and reached for John’s hand, tangling their fingers together very lightly as he led John into the bathroom, “You can just wash your face and underarms then. I don’t mind.”

John nodded and walked with him, glancing back at the kitchen table at the last second with a grin, happy with his choice to keep and then repair it, and not leave it out with the bins as he had originally thought he should do. The table obviously represented something to them both, and John had needed to express himself through it instead of trying to put his feelings into words, words that often failed him.

Sherlock pulled him inside the bathroom and shut the door, then untied his dressing gown one handed whilst dropping John’s hand to turn on the shower with the other, testing the water with a wiggle of his fingers. His face was blank but his eyes were bright, pupils dilated, and John resisted the urge to hug him again.

“I’m sorry about…you know,” John told him over the noise of the water, gesturing to the bruise on Sherlock’s jaw. “And everything that led up to it…”

Sherlock inclined his head with a quick smile and shrugged out of his dressing gown completely, stepping into the shower without a word and presenting John with the slender sweep of his pale, naked back and the curve of his backside. John stared until Sherlock pulled the curtain across, and then turned to stumble to the sink and splash cold water over his sweaty forehead. He glanced up into the mirror to watch the naked silhouette of Sherlock through the shower curtain as he washed his hair, and swallowed thickly with a shudder of arousal. The anxiety and fear was back again in that moment, and John pushed them away as best he could, rubbing water over his cheeks and breathing deeply in the rising mist, glowering at himself and hating the way his mind continued to react even after everything he had thought about and done with Sherlock already.

After a long moment, John pulled off his top, toed off his shoes, yanked off his socks and dropped his trousers and underwear to his feet with determination. He was already half hard by the time he was done and he flushed at the sight, covering himself with one hand as he paused before the curtain, hesitant to take the final step forward. It was the smell of Sherlock’s shampoo that made him finally move, pleasant and reassuring in its familiarity, and he stepped in beside Sherlock with a smile, keeping his gaze up as Sherlock turned to him with a grin, blinking water from his eyes and then swooping in to capture John in a wet kiss that deepened as soon as it started with John’s hands lifting to smooth up Sherlock’s naked shoulders.

“Want to do my back?” Sherlock asked playfully when he pulled away, picking up the shower gel and then tapping it on John’s nose with a laugh when John gawped at him in shock. 

“You cheeky sod,” John replied a second later, snatching at the gel and hooking his arm around Sherlock’s neck to drag him back into a second but chaste kiss. “Fine. Turn around—Hold on a moment, this is mine!”

Sherlock laughed again and shrugged, “I used all of mine.”

“Hm, well, you are a giant,” John smirked, feeling oddly but thankfully at ease, squeezing some out onto his palm and signalling for Sherlock to turn around with his finger. “I was wondering where all of it was going. How long have you been using it for?”

“Little over a month now,” Sherlock replied over his shoulder. “And I am not a giant! You’re just a hobbit!” 

“Hobbit?” John repeated, leaning his mouth on the water speckled skin of Sherlock’s arm as he looked up at him. “Have you also been reading my books as well as using my bathroom products?”

Sherlock glanced down at him and slowly smiled, “No.”

“You have “The Hobbit” novel?” John asked in surprise as he smeared the gel along Sherlock’s back, trying not to think too much on the way Sherlock’s skin felt wet and slick under his fingers.

“First edition,” Sherlock replied smugly. “It was one of the few children’s books that I made Mycroft read to me when I was a child. Normally, I’d demand him read me things like “Treasure Island” on a daily basis but there was something about “The Hobbit” that I liked.”

John snorted with hilarity against Sherlock’s skin and then moved back to drag both hands up and over his back with lingering swipes that made John’s dick twitch. He glanced down at it with a wince and became instantly distracted by Sherlock’s plush backside, watching a collection of suds glide over the curve of one buttock with transfixed attention. Sherlock’s body was extremely attractive and pale, muscles shifting as he adjusted his stance on the shower floor; and John let his mind wander to the night before as he tipped his hips forwards mindlessly, shaking with desire when his length hardened, inches away from Sherlock. Sliding his fingers down Sherlock’s waist and hips John felt his heart pick up and let out a deep and long breath that stirred the damp curls at Sherlock’s nape. 

“Stop staring at my bottom,” Sherlock mumbled, spraying John with water as he angled the showerhead with an impish expression. 

“Huh? What?” John asked, rubbing water from his face with a frown. 

“You’ve missed bits,” Sherlock said; reaching around to relocate John’s hands to his neck and shoulders and take some gel onto his own hands to wash his front, arm sinew bunching.

John scowled and massaged Sherlock’s shoulders, but all too soon dropped his hands back to Sherlock’s waist, unable to resist cupping his backside with both hands and squeezing with a noise in the back of his throat, loving the way it felt to touch. Sherlock stiffened with a violent tremor and then looked over his shoulder at John with a brief arched eyebrow, and a fluttering of his eyes when John pushed the hard line of his erection into the small of his back. His thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions and needs, a big part of him animalistic and possessive and impatient, and Sherlock reached out to brace his arms near the shower controls. 

John licked water from his lips and took a moment to try and gain more control of himself as his heart hammered and his mind clouded with a strong and unmistakable longing. He wanted to say something but he wasn’t entirely sure what it was that he wanted to say, so John took a breath, then another one, rutted slowly into Sherlock’s back and then pulled him around with a sliding of wet feet and flailing limbs. John caught him with a grunt and shoved him up against the tiled wall, satisfied beyond all reason by Sherlock’s submissive and willing body. Sherlock groaned huskily and John gripped his shoulder, swallowing the sound with a deep and zealous kiss, pressing close to feel the hard, responding prod of Sherlock’s own erection into his stomach. 

Sherlock’s mouth was hot and eager, his tongue confidently and wantonly meeting John’s with such passion that John moaned loudly in reaction and pushed closer, gripping a handful of damp curls just to make Sherlock shiver. The kiss grew in intensity and John felt overwhelmingly heated and unsteady in arousal, so much so that he pulled back to pant roughly, staring into Sherlock’s hooded eyes.

A minute later and Sherlock reached for the shower dials, turning the temperature down enough to chase away the haze of dizziness and to urge them that little bit closer. John took the moment to glance down at them pressed together and reached an instinctive hand between both of their heaving stomachs, wrapping his fingers around them both in a tight and satisfying grip, something which instantly encouraged Sherlock to thrust himself roughly and fervently through the clasp of John’s fist.

John forced him to stop and kissed away Sherlock’s sudden whine. He teased them both with a skilled and shaking hand, sharing air with Sherlock as he gasped and panted against John’s mouth. The sight of Sherlock gripping and clawing at the tiles and John’s shoulders and sides made John hornier, made him squeeze and move his hand faster, rubbing the head of their cocks together as he bucked and rocked against Sherlock and into his own grip.

Sherlock fumbled to thrust in rhythm with him but fell short and ended up squirming and rutting erratically in a sudden scrambling that forced John to awkwardly step back and pull Sherlock down to sit between his legs facing him, to press their erections together again. With Sherlock’s legs wrapping around his waist strongly, John quivered and bucked all the harder, biting and then kissing Sherlock messily, incapable of stopping the moans that escaped his throat as Sherlock threw his arm out to grip too tightly onto the shower curtain, which squeaked and then tore with a snap.

With a deep and gravelly curse, Sherlock entwined his fingers with John’s own and moved desperately, powerless to stop as he arched his neck, gasped and thrust hard in three taut and tensed motions before he stilled and climaxed with several rough pulses into the clutch of their hands. John gaped at him, mouthed at Sherlock’s strained throat and stroked himself to completion moments later with a choked grunt.

Sherlock slumped backwards and John automatically grabbed for him, pulling him into his body and knocking heads with him with a huffing laugh and a cringe. Sherlock lethargically draped his arms over John’s shoulders and mashed their mouths together clumsily with a deep and rumbling laugh when their noses knocked. 

John stroked one of Sherlock’s quivering thighs and scooted them both further under the spray of the shower to clean the mess between their bodies, basking in the lazy kisses that Sherlock continued dish out with a heady rush of affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, quick and eager mutual masturbation in a shower is really fun and entertaining to write! Even if it's short!  
> And I'm not sorry about The Hobbit mention/reference! It made me laugh!
> 
> Feedback fuels me!


End file.
